


Under Cover

by KateKintail



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the time, Clint had remembered the stakeout Agent Coulson had scheduled for him and had known the second drink would be a bad idea...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Cover

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an ROG community challenge to this prompt: Marvel/Avengers, Clint/Coulson, Hawkeye's on stakeout and really needs to take a break to piss but he doesn't want to leave his post and let Coulson down on the mission. Bonus points for Clint breaking down and describing his desperation to Coulson over the com.

At the time, Clint had remembered the stakeout Agent Coulson had scheduled for him and had known the second drink would be a bad idea, even to preserve his cover as a Tony Stark-like playboy who partied all night. So he had cleverly avoided drinking the second drink, carrying it around with him at the party and spilling tiny amounts in plant pots or into empty glasses on trays when no one was looking. He’d known the second drink would make him need to pee at an inconvenient time and he couldn’t risk that. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was the first drink making him need to pee. 

Clint Barton sat on a tree branch, high enough that he could see over the mansion’s security wall and straight into the bedroom of the party’s host, Vince Cloves. They suspected Mr. Cloves of espionage and embezzlement, pulling money out of his company and channeling it into foreign accounts of entities who meant to overthrow the government of this small Slavic country. It was up to Natasha to figure out how it was being done; Clint’s part in introducing the two of them was over, so now he was just there to provide backup and keep an eye on her.

And to, apparently, perch on a tree limb with one hand on his bow and the other on his crotch. “I’m not kidding around, Coulson,” Clint said, his voice soft and low though he knew the S.H.I.E.L.D. earpiece would pick it up; their tech was almost as good as Stark’s. “I really do feel like I need to go to the bathroom already.” 

“I’m not having this conversation with you over the com, Agent Barton. This isn’t your first stakeout. Hold it until your shift is over and you’re relieved.”

Clint winched. “Relieved? Are you trying to mock me?”

“I’m trying to be your boss.”

“Would prefer you being my lover right now. My sympathetic lover who can see I’m getting desperate for a good pee. I think there was something in that drink.”

“Like a roofie?” Coulson’s tone immediately sounded concerned. 

“No, like a diuretic.” 

“That’s nonsense. Now quit complaining and keep an eye on your partner.”

Clint clenched his teeth. He knew his job. And he would never let Natasha down. But the way he felt right now… the intensity of the urge building in his bladder it wasn’t such a strange explanation. Cloves would have wanted him out of the way to seduce Natasha. And, as he felt the heaviness in his bladder, he was glad now he hadn’t had that second drink. He gripped his crotch through the leather pants more tightly, rubbing a little, applying all the pressure he could before slipping his hand into his tight pants and actually squeezing himself tighter. His grip was experienced, strong. But even as he pinched his dick, he knew this couldn’t last. 

“Fuck, I’ve really got to go.”

“How long are you going to keep up this constant whining, Agent Barton?”

“Until I can piss.” He didn’t dare move about to relieve some of the pressure or even jiggle his leg. He had perfect balance up in the tree and the last thing he wanted was to slip off and break an arm or worse. The only thing he could imagine right now was pulling out his prick and pissing a long, yellow arc toward the ground. He was up so high that it would be strong, hitting the frozen ground so hard he’d be able to hear it from above, like a sizzle and crackle, a waterfall straight from him.

An intense urge struck him, bending him at the waist, almost throwing him off balance, which was a feat for Clint who practically lived up high like this. He was sure he was going to wet his pants if he stayed here any longer. And S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did not have accidents. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were clever. They improvised. “I’m getting down.”

“Negative, Barton.”

“But I’ve really got to piss. You don’t understand how bad.”

“I understand that we’re going to have a talk about this later. But until then, you’re holding your position just like you’re holding your bladder. That’s an order.” 

“I’m not going to make it,” it sounded so close to a whimper. Barton’s hands felt moist with sweat and he was sure the one shoved down the front of his pants might already be moist with something else. He could imagine the piss coming out, drop by drop, from the tip into his shorts. 

“Then just stop complaining and go.” 

Barton knew that command meant he should whip it out and piss. But he didn’t want to leave a trace of himself there for the patrolmen to find or slip in. DNA tests wouldn’t be beyond this Vince Cloves’ abilities, and he didn’t need proof that someone was onto him. That would put the entire operation, not to mention Natasha, at risk. So Barton heard the words, and purposefully misinterpreted it. 

With his bow strapped onto his back, he began climbing down the tree. When he got to the bottom, he threw off his equipment and took off his vest. Shirtless and with his hand at his crotch because if he didn’t squeeze, he’d lose it in his pants, he headed for the gate. 

The guard on duty recognized him from earlier, when the party had been in full swing and when Clint had purposefully asked him for a light. It had been Clint’s plan to be memorable, which was hard to do when most men only had eyes for Natasha. Clint slid into his false identity at once, claiming his car had broken down and that he’d walked back, drunk, because he needed to pee. 

“Barton!” Coulson scolded. “You are not authorized to—”

“Thanks,” Clint said, as the guard let him past the gate and Clint hurried up the walk toward the house. For Coulson’s benefit, he said, “I just need a quick piss. He’ll never suspect.”

“If he slipped you a diuretic, he already suspects.”

But Clint wasn’t sure that was true. And, even if it were, it would be better to play his part and figure out what the man was up to. So he walked up to the front door, rang the bell, and took his hand off his crotch just as the door opened. The butler was not pleased to see him. But Clint begged and rambled for long enough for Mr. Cloves to see what the matter was. 

“Vince, hey buddy,” Clint’s undercover persona spoke slowly, and he was trying to keep his desperation from ruining that. “My car broke down a couple blocks from here. My driver called a garage, but I’ve really got to go and there’s no way in hell I’m doing it on the side of the road where anyone could see when I know someone with a perfectly good toilet. So, can I…?”

Vince gestured toward the guest bathroom and Clint made his way there in haste. He caught a glimpse of Natasha in one of the rooms and she flashed him a quick sign that was her fiddling with her left earring to let him know she was all right. She probably thought he’d made up an excuse to come in and rescue her when, in reality, all he could truthfully think about was the toilet. 

Once he was inside, it was almost impossible to not piss his pants. He had to squeeze his dick as he put up the toilet seat. The need intensified so much at the prospect of being so damn close to peeing that he whimpered and danced on one foot then the other as he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. 

“Calm down, Barton,” Coulson’s voice said suddenly in his ear. “You’re going to make it.” He sounded so reassuring, easy for him to be calm when it wasn’t his bladder flailing about, desperate to empty.

Biting his lip, sweat trickling down his face, he pulled out his cock and started peeing the instant it was barely pointing at the toilet bowl. A splash of pee hit the back of the toilet lid and even more hit the seat, but the rest met the water in the toilet bowl with a reassuring, familiar sound. He moaned softly, not really wanting to be overheard, though that would lend credibility to his story. 

Coulson could hear him, though, and commented with his voice low and deep but reassuring, unlike his commanding S.H.I.E.L.D. agent voice. “Good job. Just let it out and relax, Clint. You made it.”

“I did,” he whispered. “Made it. And this feels so good.” 

“Good. I’m glad it feels good. I’m glad you’re happy. Because when you’re back in that tree, we’re going to have a little talk about professionalism and going against a direct order.” 

Clint grunted but couldn’t get too worried. The blissful relief washing over him now that he had safely reached a toilet without wetting himself was far too good. 

He drained his cock entirely, standing at the toilet as the stream broke, thinned, and turned into a few small spurts then dribbles. He watched the last few drops drip from the tip. Then he tucked himself back into his pants. He buttoned his pants but kept the fly down to pretend he was an incompetent guy too drunk after the party to notice. 

Before he headed back out, he quickly washed his hands in the bathroom sink. With the water running to cover the sound, he reached up and opened the medicine cabinet. It was the guest bathroom, so his hopes weren’t high. But when he spotted a little brown bottle with a familiar medicine name printed on it, he had to smile. “I knew it.”

“What’s that, Clint?” 

Clint didn’t answer, but he did slip the bottle into his pocket for later.


End file.
